The Midsummer Hunt
by nachalainne
Summary: The Midsummer Hunt is one of the most famous festivals in the elven world, drawing a multitude contestants from the three kingdoms, Haldir of Lórien being one. Enjoy the twists and turns of competition, along with a humorous romance. Review please!
1. LothLórien

As you're reading, please feel free to review – any critique is welcome! (And no, I don't care if you're brutal… I would be.) Thank you!

--------------

Light chatter drifted around the silver and ivory room. Each person seated in the large hall was dressed in their absolute finest silks and robes, in celebration of an annual event that would take place over the upcoming weeks. The Midsummer Hunt, as it was called, was the grandest of elven celebrations as it represented the prime of life, the middle of the era in which they lived.

The actual Hunt was a festival that took place in Imladris, home of Elrond Peredhil [Half-elven. On the Midsummer holiday, several elves from the three elven kingdoms of LothLórien, Mirkwood, and Imladris would compete in a search for the banner of Gil-Galad, one of the last remaining memories of the Second Age. Lord Elrond, himself, would hide the banner somewhere on the grounds, outside of the palace and each elf would search for a full day to find it.

The elf that brought back the banner was celebrated beyond imagining. He brought honour to his people, his family, and to himself as well as a chance to defend his title against newcomers in the next Hunt. The Hunt was particularly meaningful to the land of LothLórien, for eight solid years someone within the Golden Wood had carried the title of winner of the Hunt. It was a record they revelled in, and had no intentions of sharing with any other kinfolk.

Haldir of LothLórien, the Marchwarden, had taken the competition three years in a row, beginning the long winning streak. For the sake of the Hunt, he declined entry the next year, only to have LothLórien win once more. By competing every other year Haldir insured that LothLórien kept the title of turning out the most winners, as well as give other elves from LothLórien a chance to win. Since his decision to compete bi-annually, he had taken the prize twice more, bringing his own total to five years. Two other elves from LothLórien, including the chief advisor, Fereveldir, had won the in-between years keeping the title within the Golden Wood.

Once more, Haldir was competing, and every elf, even those also entered into the competition, expected him to win. That night's banquet was a celebratory feast to commemorate past victories and future victories before the company set off for Imladris.

At the head of the largest table in the room, Lord Celeborn stood up, calling a quick silence to the room. "Mae govannen!" He called out his people, welcoming them to the festivities. "To keep speeches short… tonight we celebrate the feast of Midsummer!" Loud rounds of applause and cheers filled every corner of the room. "We honour those that have won. The Marchwarden, who first began our good fortune." More cheers, Haldir, who was seated to the left of Lady Galadriel, nodded his head in respect to the toast. "Fereveldir, who graced us with another win last year." A brunette elf seated two chairs down from Celeborn smiled to the applause. "And to the future champion, may he be an elf from LothLórien!" The final statement drew the most approval from the small crowd, who did not relent in their applause until more elves appeared bearing trays of food.

At the High Table, conversations breached a number of topics but most did not leave the subject of the Hunt far behind. All around, people whispered the names of elves who had a chance of winning, and those who would not make it more than a few metres from the starting line.

For the Midsummer Hunt, an elf was given a necklace with a coloured stone set into the middle. Gold for LothLórien, silver for Imladris, and green for Greenwood the Great, now more commonly known as Mirkwood. In the event that no one found the banner of Gil-Galad, which was always a possibility, the elf that had collected the most necklaces would be declared the winner. (Hence, how Fereveldir won.) If an elf lost his necklace, he would be removed from the game, hence the difficulty. There were often large piles of the younger elves not more than a few centimetres from the starting point, all scrambling to rip off someone else's necklace, only to realise theirs were already gone.

It was difficult game, but the most celebrated elven holiday and as such would be a fete to remember. A small company, including the Lord and Lady, would on the next day depart for Imladris, and the home of Elrond Peredhil, to feast with him and his people, as well as the peoples of Mirkwood.


	2. Journey

On the forest floor wide arrays of horses were being readied with saddle bags and multi-coloured blankets. The preparations to depart by noon were going forward without delay. The Lord and Lady remained in the Great Talan, making last minute decisions and leaving instructions for their absence.

In a large, open clearing, Haldir was lightly stroking the mane of a beautiful black mare, Alkarasil. He whispered softly in her ear as she nuzzled against him. A few moments later, a blonde she-elf walked up behind them, a large grey stallion in tow. "Haldir?"

The elf paused, turning his head over his shoulder to see the woman who had, for all his knowledge just appeared in the glade. "Oh, hello Uruviel." He rubbed Alkarasil's nose once more before turning to the lovely lady behind him. "Are you ready to leave?"

Uruviel smiled, walking up beside him. "Of course." Her horse nickered softly behind her. "And so is Celesul." Azure eyes sparkled in the sunlight as she surveyed both her horse, and Haldir's. "To Rivendell…" she whispered.

Haldir smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer to him. "To Rivendell… and to a peaceful week or two." He kissed her gently on the lips, silver eyes connecting with her deep blue.

Golden blonde hair and blue eyes were only two features that accentuated the she-elf standing comfortably in Haldir's embrace. At a glance, she was stunning and skilled, trained in many weapons by Haldir himself. He had been her mentor in combat, her guardian as a child, and now the elf she loved above all since she had grown out of her childhood. Telling her grandparents that, however, might have caused some difficulties.

Galadriel and Celeborn, Lady and Lord of LothLórien, had two children, both of whom left Arda far before their time. The younger was a girl, in looks exactly like her mother, whose name was Celebrian. Celebrian married a young elven lord known as Elrond, who had survived the War of the Ring at the end of the Second Age. She bore him three children, one set of twins, Elrohir and Elladan, and one girl, Arwen, whose beauty was said to be beyond the visions of all creatures. The elder child was a boy, Celebrennin, who upon reaching elfhood, travelled the world as he saw fit, returning at long last to the Golden Wood with a baby girl cradled in his arms. He named her Uruviel, and cared for her as no father had ever done inside or outside the world. Tragedy happens, however, to the best of people, and in attempts to defend his sister and daughter from orcs on a journey through the mountains, willingly gave his own life. Unfortunately for Celebrian, his sacrifice did little, as she departed by ship for the paradise of Valinor, the Elvenhome.

Uruviel grew up parentless, as she never knew her mother, instead being raised by her grandparents, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. They kept an annoyingly close watch on her for all of her life, purely out of their desire to keep her safe, but never the less, she always endeavoured to break every rule they set for her.

She was no longer an elfling, and as such was free to love whomever she desired in whatever manner, which is exactly what she did. Her grandparents, however, had always been on the more strict side and she had no doubt, if they knew some of the things she had been up to, they would have been thoroughly displeased. Her cousin Arwen was, of course, far worse than she was in every aspect, but naturally, Miss Lady never got in trouble for anything. The twins were the true mischief-makers, and often were imprisoned in their rooms because of it. Obviously they knew every way out, but that never stopped their father from trying to put some sense of discipline in them.

A bugle sounded in the distance, calling all riders and journeymen forth so the parade could begin the journey out of LothLórien. Haldir and Uruviel were torn from their silent reverie, coming quickly back to the reality in which they lived. Sharing a quick smile, they mounted their horses and set off at a brisk trot for the gates of the city.

Haldir's brothers were waiting for them at the head of the column, they being the designated vanguard for the party. Haldir, as ever, would stay by Uruviel's side, to protect her in case of disaster. (She could easily hold her own against any beast, but Haldir was still there, just in case.) Galadriel and Celeborn appeared astride magnificent white horses, their own white robes trailing over the beasts' cascading white tails. "Is everyone ready?" Celeborn questioned, directing his enquiry at Haldir.

"I believe so, my lord." Haldir answered, bowing before his lord and lady. The entire procession followed his lead, except Uruviel, who, by birth, didn't have to.

Galadriel smiled, a cheery heartfelt light that seemed to brighten the hearts of all, be they travelling or staying within the safety of the Golden Wood. "Good. Then we depart." Looking at the two brothers at the head of the line, with a gaze that said quite plainly, 'We're watching you,' she nodded to Haldir, allowing him to send his guards forward and begin the journey to the home of Elrond Peredhil.

Haldir, in turn, transferred the command to his brothers, with an additional glare of his own saying 'Behave or fear my wrath.' Both Orophin and Rúmil, known for their trouble-making schemes as well, quickly cantered ahead on their horses, trying to get as far from Galadriel and Haldir as possible, while remaining within sight. (For an elf, that's pretty far away.)

"So another journey begins…" Uruviel whispered, allowing her horse to fall in step behind her grandmother's. Haldir, now in his place beside her, let his leg brush casually against hers, silently voicing his agreement. With the Lord and Lady in the lead, the group filed out of the gates of LothLórien, bound for the Hidden Valley and the Midsummer holiday.


	3. Imladris

The many-day journey quickly wore on the travellers, despite the elven resilience. They trudged on, both horses and riders, ever in desire to finally see their destination appear at the feet of the mountains. At long last, Haldir's brothers dropped back to the line, bearing good news. The dense cloud that was piling up not five miles distant, was actually mist from the waterfalls of Imladris, they had seen the Last Homely House. Word travelled quickly down the line, each step passing it on with more excitement than the last. The procession gradually came over the ridge, beginning the descent where Elrond's home lay nestled in the valley.

The beauty of an elvenhome to travellers is astounding, but the beauty of kinship to those who had journeyed so far was beyond words. The palace sharpened in the distance, seen as a dream through the clouds rising from the many rivers. Folk, much like themselves, turned out of homes upon seeing the column of people, a small cheer going up in the distance to greet them.

Orophin and Rúmil were already in the heart of the city, having seen their duty as scouts fulfilled upon reaching the borders. Sentinels bowed their heads as Celeborn and Galadriel passed by, a majestic sight on equal horses. Haldir remained as close as ever to Uruviel, having not left her side since the journey began. Often, he took his work even more serious than this, hence how he earned his title and profession.

The whole group eventually made it to the home of Elrond Half-Elven, large sections breaking off to visit with the elves they knew. Only a small collection remained to approach the steps of the House, being greeted as they entered by Lord Elrond, and his war councillor, Lord Glorfindel. Each noble bowed in turn, with every step of formality that just had to be observed whenever royals meet. Uruviel, meanwhile, remained astride her horse, azure eyes scanning the balconies for a specific team of demons.

Elrohir and Elladan, upon seeing the caravan approach, made their way as quickly as they could to the front of the house, being certain to avoid a very peeved off Chief Advisor. Gliding out onto the terrace overlooking the palace entrance, they peered down at the blonde-haired mass below. They easily picked out their cousin, waving their arms silently in the air to try and catch her attention.

Uruviel picked them out with ease, they were the only ones making total fools of themselves. Smiling, she dismounted, removed her saddlery, bowed to her Uncle, and with everyone's immediate permission, rushed inside. The twins met her, encompassing her in a hug, and helping to carry the few items she had with her. They led the way around the palace, even though Uruviel knew her path quite well, being careful to look around corners carefully before walking around them.

"So why are you two being so edgy?" she questioned, becoming peeved off with the odd behaviour.

"Because," was Elrohir's simple and short answer.

Elladan smiled and looked over his shoulder, just to be safe. "Because…" he continued, "somehow, Erestor's robes became soaking wet right before you lot got here, and he thinks we were responsible."

"Now why on earth would you blame US, for something like that?" Elrohir added, smiling wickedly.

The twins were absolutely identical, down to the last evil smile, which they had perfected. Only if you knew them could you hope of telling them apart, their personalities being so radically different.

Elladan was an elf of few words, preferring to spend his time among books and lore than be fighting or sparring out in the sun. Elrohir, always of the latter opinion, used his tongue more often, in a multitude of ways. Where Elrohir was very Elvish, Elladan was a prude. Where Elladan fancied culture, Elrohir fancied getting drunk off his bum. Walking contradictions. Only when together did they manage to become an equal pair. Elrohir calmed down thanks to Elladan's patience, and Elladan become less laconic, thanks to Elrohir's charisma. Together, they proved to be the best schemers Middle Earth had to offer, even better than Orophin and Rúmil, themselves.

Reaching the suite that Uruviel normally stayed in, Elrohir simply pushed the door inward with his foot and barged right in. Elladan, of course, followed his lead. Uruviel entered, surveying the as-ever, fabulous décor and style that Uncle had always managed to obtain. Clambering onto the silken bed, she curled up against a pillow and stared thoughtfully at her cousins.

"And what of the Hunt this year, no more surprises I hope?" she asked, knowing there would, of course, always be surprises.

"Well… not quite none." Elrohir answered.

"Just… the usual." Elladan added.

"Nothing harmful."

"At least not terribly."

They went to describe a few of the horrors they had in store for contenders in the competition, not bothering to worry about Uruviel telling someone else. In any event, she'd probably be helping them set it up.


	4. Banquet

A few fast hours after her arrival, Uruviel found herself seated amongst the elven royals, all dressed in their finest, as they had been at the final banquet in LothLórien. This feast, however, was being attended by elven royalty from each of the three kingdoms, Mirkwood, LothLórien and Imladris. At the head of the grand table sat Lord Elrond, healer and lore master. It was he that threw the large fete every midsummer, and invited the others to stay in his spacious and beautiful home.

Much like the past ceremony, it didn't take long for some of the younger elves to get quite tipsy, possibly even a little drunk. Many began to slowly sneak out of the hall, bottles of wine tucked under their tunics, with pretty maidens from another land in tow. At the High Table, however, it was royal decorum to not leave before the celebration had truly ended, and, of course, to not get nearly as drunk as everyone else. The latter half, however, was often disregarded by many.

Seated on Elrond's right was the High King of Mirkwood, Thranduil, and next to him, his dashing son, Prince Legolas. Dinendel, Thranduil's advisor, sat beside Elrond's own, Glorfindel and Erestor, who were shortly followed by the princes, Elladan and Elrohir at the end of the table. To Elrond's left, Galadriel sat, emanating a majestic white aura and smiling with all the beauty of the hidden lands. Beside her, Celeborn was gracefully trying to avoid getting as tipsy as Thranduil was drunk, but they were both already deep into their cups. Uruviel, Haldir, and Fereveldir, the last remaining delegates of LothLórien who were seated at the high table, were chattering quietly amongst themselves and waiting for some of the boring conversation to pass.

Although it was considered uncourteous to speak of the Hunt at the High Table, many of the lesser nobles did, specifically the princes. Whilst Elladan and Elrohir chattered away, naming who they felt would be the heroes of the next day's task, Legolas sat in silence, hearkening to their every word. Elrond tried to keep up polite conversation at the head of the table, but it quickly became obvious that no one would have it, and that only one subject was on their mind.

As the night grew more rambunctious, the height of speech at Elrohir's and Elladan's end of the table grew more and more profound, talk turning to not who would win, but who could win, should they accept the challenge. Naturally, Haldir was the centre of much conversation, and much of it focused on selecting a decent candidate who had the ability to out do him. The elf lords, of above all else, were mentioned as possibilities.

"Thranduil could take Haldir any day."

"Granted, he could take anyone any day!"

"Yes, well so could Lord Glorfindel, he is the master of the Hunt after all, and, well he's Glorfindel."

"What about Celeborn?" 

"Haldir would never try to win against him, Celeborn is his lord."

"But in a fair match, would he win, or would Haldir?"

"Probably Celeborn."

"Who else? The Marchwarden is quite good at the Hunt."

"Can't think of anyone else. Maybe Legolas."

Of course, everyone heard the chatter from around the hall, easily picking up the names that were mentioned and, more importantly, those that weren't. Elrond simply sighed and picked up his goblet, realizing his name had not, and probably would not be mentioned. Erestor, Elrond's chief Advisor and a strict follower of decorum, said nothing and drank little.

In naming contestants, many were avoided, and many were looked down upon as never having the ability to be champion. Some comments were more brutal than others, but others were simply intended in good fun. One question raised was the chance that Galadriel might possibly strip Haldir of his title, and in truth everyone knew she could. She was, after all, the most powerful elf in all of Arda. As the talk drifted up the table, and the wine bottles were passed round and round, many of the stiffer elves began to loosen their tongues, saying small comments that they would undoubtedly regret in the end.

Each comment spurred another, and each empty glass was replaced, much to the dismay of Elrond, who would undoubtedly have to replenish his wine stores. From one corner, a soft comment was spoken, "could any she-elf, other than Galadriel take the lead over Haldir?" Naturally, a raging discussion ensued.

"No, Galadriel's the only one who wouldn't fall for Haldir's charm."

"Arwen'd be too busy trying to seduce him."

"No one else has the talent."

"No one has the ability."

"No she-elf could ever win the competition, anyway."

A soft chuckle echoed around the males of the table, though the rest were deathly quiet. Elrond pursed his lips, displeased with the way things were going, and rather appalled by the comment. Elves were not naturally chauvinistic, nor prejudiced against one gender, but she-elves had always been associated with pure beauty, voice, and power, never a sporting championship. Galadriel glared down the table, deeply offended by the critique against she-elves, though she herself had been mentioned as the only one to win. Uruviel, however, merely stared across the table at Dinendel, the hapless elf who had made the comment. She, for the moment, was utterly speechless with rage. Her tongue returned quickly, however, as she turned on the drunken advisor.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean, Dinendel?" Silence ensued, all around the High Table, conversations were cheerful and light, but at its centre, time had stopped.

Thranduil's chief advisor, who had been stopped in his tracks now had a quite terrified look on his face, unsure how to reply. "I- I- I- … I'm n-not certain, princess."

Uruviel glared, her azure eyes turned to ice as she drilled into her victim. "You seem to think that a female can't win the Hunt, is that it?" she questioned.

"N-no, princess." The terrified advisor stammered in reply. He looked down at his plate, ears now three shades more red than when he had begun. "Never, Uruviel." Everyone seated at the table had their eyes focused on Uruviel, and Dinendel, who would regret having said such a disagreeable comment for many centuries to come.

"Uncle," Uruviel commented, turning to face Elrond. "Are there any rules to prohibit a she-elf from entering the Midsummer competition?"

Elrond shook his head, a secret smile playing about in his mind. "None that I've ever heard of. Glorfindel?" He referred the question to his War Councillor, who, as Master of the hunt, would be most likely to know the answer.

The blonde-haired lord shook his head, answering with a spark of amusement in his voice. "There is no rule that bars she-elves from entering the competition, it's simply unprecedented." He glanced at Dinendel before continuing, "…but there's no reason why that can't change."

"Excellent." Uruviel remarked, as she returned her gaze from Glorfindel to Elrond. "Lord Elrond, it is my desire to enter the Midsummer Hunt, as no rule says that I may not."

"Very well," the lore-master replied, having no desire, whatsoever, to stop her.

Uruviel stood up, turned away from the table after a short bow to Elrond, Glorfindel, and her grandparents, and walked briskly away. No one on either side said a word until she had disappeared. The first to speak was Elrohir, who, also deep into his cups, had managed to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

"Haldir… you're screwed."


	5. Eve

It didn't take long for the remaining party-goers to retire to more private chambers, though the subject of discussion remained consistently the same. Rather than running to her own room, where she would certainly be found, Uruviel dashed down the corridors to her cousin's own, rather empty, apartments.

Granted, it didn't take much time for Elrohir and Elladan to find her, on their second guess of course. Traipsing into Elrohir's bedroom, where Uruviel was curled over on his bed, the duo, along with the delectable Prince Legolas, gaily paraded about with several full wine bottles. Elrohir, being his flamboyantly drunken self, dove carelessly onto his bed, followed by Legolas. Elladan, who in his unnaturally drunken state was attempting to protect the wine, fell sideways into a chair. The trio, whose attitudes could not be dampened by any side thought, smiled zanily at the poor she-elf whose face now harboured an expression the polar opposite of that which she had worn earlier.

"Uhh… Uru … you look like you're gonna be sick," Elladan mumbled, trying to focus his blurry vision on his pallid cousin.

"Yea… d'you eat something bad?" Elrohir snickered, brain filaments no longer connecting from the high alcohol content.

Uruviel simply stared at the ceiling, eyes out of focus and detached from the rest of the world. Legolas, the ever-concerned and somewhat-brainwashed friend, sidled up to her and placed his hand on her forehead. "You know… if she wunn't an elf, I'd think she was dead," he muttered before taking a rather large swig from a bottle he had hidden under his tunic.

Elrohir, seeing no other method of catching his cousin's attention, simply took to poking her repeatedly until she chose to awaken from her reverie. The poke-method was, of course, a proven method of awakening slumbering victims.

Shaking her head to slough away the more numbing thoughts, Uruviel blinked, realising for the first time that it was Elrohir plaguing her, and not something else, like she had imagined. (Her cousin's presence often provoked rather awkward thoughts in people.) "Leave me be … you bloody drunkard."

Elrohir smiled, quite proud to have succeeded in arousing his cousin – not like that, you perverts – where others had failed. Her comment, most naturally, slid off of him as though it had never been spoken. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Uru!" He hiccoughed, handing over a bottle that was, in his mind, half-full. His twin brother and their mutual blond companion cheerily raised their bottles in toast, muttering compliments before drowning themselves in what remained.

"I shouldn't have done that…" Uruviel whispered, voice barely audible over the clinks and gurgles of her male comrades. Rolling onto her back, she stared drearily at the ceiling. "Complete lunacy. I'm going to die. Haldir will win the competition, he'll rub it in my face, I'll be a laughing stock, my grandparents will be ashamed, I'll never be able to go home, and I assuredly wouldn't be able to stay here…."

Half muttered comments like those poured from her mouth in a senseless string for quite some time before Elladan could put two and two together, or at least pretend to. Smiling in a manner he had though was sympathetic, but was actually more like someone who's had a gong rung next to their head, he leant over toward the bed and attempted to reassure his upset cousin. "Dun worry! Worse comes to worse… I can hide you under m'bed." He paused for a moment to hiccough before continuing. "An' then I can sneak you food … and wine… and… stuff."

The thought, as well-intentioned as it had been, did little, however, to quell Uruviel's fears. If anything, it worsened them. Sighing dejectedly, she spared a solitary glance at the bottle in her hand, and upon seeing it to be half-empty, downed the lot.

----

Though Haldir allowed for the end of the feast before retiring to more private chambers, he did not do so in good humour. Much like Uruviel, a feeling of utter hopelessness overcame him, and refused to let go. Abandoning the idea of returning to his own chamber, he silently trudged to his younger brothers' apartment – a room they shared, but rarely spent quality time in. Though Haldir had wanted nothing more than to sit and mope in silence, his brothers soon came to his aid, bringing Fereveldir with them.

"Hello Hal! Woah – you look awful." Haldir spared his youngest brother a brief glare before sighing melodramatically and returning his head to his hands. Though he was perched on the edge of Orophin's bed, it did little to deter the middle brother for clambering up behind him and toying with his hair. Fereveldir – who of all the elves at the banquet, excepting Erestor, was probably the least drunk – spun a chair about and grinned bemusedly at his long-time friend.

"I'm not sure what to say… whether I should console you or tell you Elrohir was right." He commented cheerily. Being in full possession of his wits, something that could be said for many others, he was allowed the full use of his generally sarcastic nature. The notion that he was, of course, absolutely right only dismayed Haldir even more.

"But – Haldir's … Haldir! He's won the competition five times! Nobody can beat him!" Rúmil quipped, slightly unaware of the situation.

Orophin dragged himself to the side, to stare at his younger brother. "No' this time, Ru! This time…" he blinked, having gone cross-eyed in his attempts to explain. "This time Princess Uruviel is competing!" Having said his share, he keeled over, staring absently at the ceiling.

Rúmil, who looked mildly confused, or at least, more than usual, could only utter monosyllabic responses: "…oh."

Haldir raised his head, a pained expression written across his face, as he directed conversation toward the only capable being in the room. "Fereveldir – there's no way I can win… is there?"

Pausing to give reasonable thought to the question, Fereveldir decided upon his answer. "No." he replied plainly, shaking his head. "You trained her yourself, Hal… so she's more than capable of winning on skill. But she's also an elf with a vengeance and no matter how much she likes you, that vengeance must be satisfied." Trust a councillor to counsel truthfully.

"Why couldn't you have just lied?"

"Because it's not my job."

"I'm going to kill Dinendel. It's his fault."

"This is true… but believe me when I say – kinslaying is not the way to go. Just win the competition."

"I thought you said I couldn't."

"I, personally, don't think anyone stands a chance against Uruviel, but you're not just anyone – are you, Haldir?" A knowing smile crossed Fereveldir's lips as he surveyed his companion's face.

Only the smallest of ticks gave away the answer, though Haldir feigned by raising an eyebrow in question. "I don't know precisely what it is you're talking about…" he replied. "… but I do believe Elrohir summed up my future quite nicely."

From their places on opposite beds, Rúmil and Orophin looked at each other, giggling quite childishly and quoted the famed anecdote of the evening. "You're screwed!"

-----

Exactly like every other person in Imladris who wasn't involved in a more important activity, the Royals themselves sat down together after the banquet to discuss the events of the night. Though Thranduil had apologized profusely for his councillor's tongue, Galadriel had yet to stop glaring at him, despite her protests that she didn't know she was doing it. Celeborn, who was more concerned with the outcome of the competition than the manner in which it would begin, was simply giddy with the thought that LothLórien now had a greater chance of winning than ever before. Elrond, ever quiet and good natured, rubbed his temples to soothe away the headache that was quickly building. His primary concern had always been the geniality of the competition, and fostering unity between the three elven lands – but the competition, it seemed, always brought divisions.

"I believe that all we can do is to cross our fingers, and hope for the best." Thranduil said calmly, carefully avoiding Galadriel's gaze. Upon hearing soft mutterings inside his head, he spared a glance to her mouth, which remained motionless, and consigned himself to misery.

"Nonsense – there is nothing bad in this competition." Celeborn retorted. "If anything, Thranduil, we should thank your servant for his folly – for it is certain that this shall prove to be among the most entertaining of Hunts we have yet seen."

"This is true, Celeborn," Elrond replied, attempting to slide in a comment of good will and prosperity. "And think how much the simple actions of your granddaughter advance this competition into an equal and non-discriminatory event."

Though the Lord of LothLórien was on most occasions among the most wise of all elves, the buzzing in his head from successive bottles of wine did not allow for the comprehension of words above three syllables in length. "… right. What he said!"

"And yet…" Elrond began. "I must ask myself… which of the competitors is most likely to triumph in tomorrow's competition? For all my gift of foresight – I cannot see it." Had anyone else breached the subject, it would have been seen as disgraceful. However, seeing as Elrond was … well- Elrond, it made it perfectly alright.

Galadriel smiled, though it was obvious that her primary attentions were focused elsewhere. (Thranduil had begun humming to himself, in hopes of drowning out the nagging comments in his brain.) "Nor have I the power to see what has yet to be written." Always one to be mystical, her deep voice echoed throughout the room, giving everyone the feeling as though ice had just run up their spines.

"Yet to be written?" Celeborn questioned, piecing the words together slowly to be certain he fully understood them. "D'you mean they've changed the course of the future?" Unlike mortals, elven life has been decided since Ea first came into being – hence, why a select few of the elven race have the gift of foresight, or being able to discern the future. Mortals, who are not bound to any choice or morality unless by their own decision, make amends and crossroads in their daily happenings that continuously change their life paths, making it rather difficult to see exactly lies in wait for them, except at a precise moment.

The silence of the room was the only affirmative the elven royals needed. Whatever the outcome of the next day's events, it would change the patterns of the stars.


	6. Morning

Morning dawned too quickly for the contenders, many still sick with the previous night's festivities. Only a quick bath in one of the dell's many rivers offered the slightest respite from the clouded thoughts and sleep-deprived looks. For two, who could not bring themselves to crawl out of bed, even the promise of a refreshing dip was not consolation enough.

Uruviel had been awake for some time before the sun's first rays began to pour through her window. Throwing golden beams across the marble floor - the day's herald provided her with none of its usual comfort, only a queasiness. She knew, without a doubt, that the upcoming contest was at fault - but even that simple thought could not distil her nerves. Butterflies attacked her stomach with a vengeance - and she wondered vaguely if perhaps 'butterflies' was not the appropriate term for such a nauseous feeling.

Forcing herself away from the eiderdown that sheltered her, she considered dropping out of the Hunt - with the disturbing realisation that, if she didn't win, which was entirely possible, she would never live it down. It would be a disappointment to females everywhere, regardless of race. She found strength in the idea that, even if she didn't win, she could certainly find a number of ways to make certain that Haldir wouldn't either - even if they meant potential injury to the Marchwarden. No, there was no turning back now, she would play the game - but that didn't mean she had to play nicely.

Grabbing a pair of leggings and a tunic from her wardrobe, she dressed quickly - if she was going to fail miserably, she might as well have a spot of breakfast first. Mayhap the food - anything - would ease her writhing stomach. Running a brush quickly through soft, golden locks - she exited the chamber, footsteps echoing quietly in the empty corridor.

At the end of the hall, Haldir was little better off. For much of the night, and most of the morning he had lain awake - silver eyes meeting the wooden ceiling with a blank, lifeless stare. Now, his sharp elven ears caught the whispering sound of departing feet, which caused him to curl up, knees to his chest, in his bed. Of all the random chances in the universe, the gods had chosen to curse him thus - pitting him between his own pride, and his heart. Neither option had any particular trump on the other - this battle gave him little excuse for a cheerful demeanour.

Rolling over, he planted both feet firmly on the cold, wooden floor - the chill not enough to sway the dizziness in his mind. Hunched over, he gently massaged his temples - eyes shut tightly, to bar out the light. At the back of his mind, he was silently praying that this was all simply a bad nightmare, and that he would wake up and be freed from its agonizing misfortunes. When he next opened his eyes, however, the sight that greeted his swimming vision was the same as before, as empty and unforgiving as ever.

Stumbling forward, away from his bed, he grabbed his warden tunic - the hand-woven LothLórien cloth would shelter him not only from the elements, but from those around him far better than his own skills. In this game, more than any other, he felt that he would need all the assistance luck, or any other source, could provide. A soft growling noise met his ears as he reached for his belt - food would be an excellent start. Tightening the worn leather about his waist, he made for the dining hall - hoping for his own sanity that everyone else was still abed.

He would find out, to his dismay, that a curious few had been hoping the same thing. Bent over a plate of fruit, Uruviel munched lifelessly on a few grapes - blank eyes boring holes in the rich, oak tables. What usually held a surprisingly good flavour to her now tasted like ash, despite her desire to enjoy it - something of a last meal, before her dignity was crucified.

At the opposite side of the hall, Haldir took a seat, one small piece of bread, flavoured with honey, wrapped in a leaf in his hand. Peeling back the natural covering to sample a bite, though he could feel the pastry on his tongue, he could taste nothing - nothing but the notion of being wrenched in half, torn between sides. The quick chatter of maids and contestants, of wandering habitants, seemed aimless and foreign to his mind.

A horn resounded throughout the hall, turning heads and catching quick glances. The trumpeting was a signal - all contestants to the starting line. Pushing away the plate of nearly untouched food, Uruviel hoisted herself to her feet, face grim in the early morning light. This was it - this was the beginning. Her naturally rosy mouth pressed into a stern line as she marched forward with the other competitors, into the open, and waiting field.

Brushing the crumbs from his hands, Haldir stood - look of resignation gone, replaced by one of steadfast determination. He had met Uruviel's eye - if only for a moment - as she exited the Hall, and found no hints of remorse or regret, only the strength he now felt, as shallow as it was. He would let love fight its own game, pride - for all it was worth - was all that mattered now.


	7. Hunt

Scanning the staggering groups of competitors with hawk-like eyes, Glorfindel leant against the balcony railing, hunter green robes falling gracefully over his lithe body. As Master of the Hunt, he dressed the part - looking remarkably stylish, and, what he considered to be, hunter-esque in earth tones. Behind him, many of the gathering nobles were politely conversing - considering their options and weighing their kingdom's likelihood of victory. From this balcony they would watch the initial proceedings, the starting ceremony and so on, and await the return - if there was to be a return - of the winner.

Glancing behind him, Glorfindel caught Lord Elrond's eye. Everything was in order - it was time for the ceremony to begin. Descending the staircase, Glorfindel approached the field. A wide, white line had been drawn across the lawn - the starting line - and behind, a vast number of contestants gathered, ready to begin the competition. Raising his hands for silence - a great hush fell over the crowd, as all eyes turned toward the Master of the Hunt.

"Welcome kinsfolk!" Glorfindel cried out - he loved this part of the games. "Welcome to the annual Midsummer Hunt!" A cheer arose from every corner of the field, until it seemed the entire valley was alive with shouting. Few would willingly miss the start of this competition. Waiting until the festive ruckus subsided, Glorfindel began again. "I'm sure there's no need for me to explain the rules, but for propriety, and the sake of tradition, I am going to do so anyway - and I'm sure you will all find it in your hearts to forgive me."

With a wink at the crowd, which had groaned rather loudly at the elf lord's theatrics, Glorfindel cleared his throat. Though the rules were simple, they did take a bit of explanation. "In this competition, each of the contestants will be hunting for a banner - identical to this one." He waved his hand grandiosely at a page, who had appeared beside him, brandishing a hefty blue flag. "Many of you will recognize the stars and emblems of Gil-Galad. This ensign is one of two - the other has been hidden by our very own Lord Elrond. Our contestants will spend today, all of today, on a quest for the hidden banner, which - with Lord Elrond's promises - will be rather difficult to find. Lord Elrond is the only person here who knows the location of the hidden banner - though I do not suggest anyone ask him where it is, by force or otherwise, as he will not tell you. Believe me - I've already tried." Scattered laughter and murmurings forced Glorfindel to pause again.

"The Hunt does not end, however, when a contestant has found the banner, for that is when the real task begins. The first elf over the finish line, which is consequently also the starting line, will be the winner, and I wish all of you the best of luck in doing so. Stealing, or rather - borrowing with every intention of returning it once the game is over, the banner is entirely within the limits of the game, though I caution everyone against using extreme violence. Remember - no weapons are allowed." Several of the participants groaned at this - the no weapons rule was only recently added, to avoid serious injury - the game seemed to be getting more and more dangerous each year.

"Now - in the event that the ensign is not located - that is, none of the contestants are able to find it, which, as we all know, has been known to happen." Celeborn shifted uneasily in his seat - four of LothLórien's eight victories had been without the banner. "If the ensign is not found, then the contestant who has displaced the greatest number of opponents shall be declared the winner. To determine this, each contestant will receive a necklace, with an appropriately coloured stone in the centre." Brightly dressed maids carrying baskets walked to each of the participants in turn, handing out necklaces.

"Contestants from LothLórien will wear gold stones, Imladris will have silver, and Mirkwood will have green. Any contestant that loses the necklace will be eliminated from the game and must return to the starting line. The elf with the greatest number of necklaces in his pos-" Glorfindel hesitated, glancing down the starting line quickly. "In his or her possession," he amended with a broad smile, "by this time tomorrow, will be the victor."

"The Hunt will end with the return of the banner, or at this time tomorrow morning - depending on the outcome. In honour of the winner, a celebratory banquet will be held immediately afterwards, during which the old champion, if he loses, will present the new one with the crown and title."

"The game will begin when the horn sounds. I wish you all the best of luck, and may the best elf, or she-elf, win!" The crowd erupted into cheers and tumultuous applause as elves jostled each other for the best places along the starting line. Tension skyrocketed and nerves soared as everyone awaited the harsh bugle that signalled the start. Raising the horn to his lips, Glorfindel loosed the frightful trumpeting - a massive swarm of people rushed, with the onlooker's approval, over the starting line.

Many of the younger elves barely got more than a few metres across the field before they were tackled and trounced by their friends. Assuming that the banner would not be found, they were each of them attempting to get a head start on collecting necklaces. A great deal of the competition was eliminated in the first few minutes by this dangerous wrestling. The seasoned professionals, and those who had watched the Hunt with deep interest in previous years, skirted around these writhing piles of warriors and made for the forest, each keeping a weather eye open for any sign of blue.

Back on the balcony, Elrond watched the action from a raised dais - silver eyes twinkling with anticipation as he watched both Uruviel and Haldir disappear beyond that tree line. "And now..." he commented calmly, "we wait."


	8. Searching

Swinging into the treetops, Uruviel sought refuge immediately in the higher boughs. She had seen one to many Hunts to know it was safer to get out of the way during the first few hours of the game. Besides, it was unlikely, for all her ability, that she would be able to oust any of her fellow competitors in a one-on-one wrestling match.

Scanning the treetops for a hint of blue, any shimmering sign of the banner's hiding place, she searched - quick elven eyes picking out any unnatural flash in the environment. All around her, the sun's warm rays glinted off of the jewel necklaces, pointing out many easy targets. More than once, elves she knew - and some she didn't - scrambled up the branches after her, wicked grins on their faces, thinking they would steal her necklace away and put an end to it. It was to her amusement that she was able to dangle their own in front of their faces, having taken them before they had even known she was there.

She pocketed each one, marvelling only for a moment at the collection of silver, gold, and green. Her own necklace she stuffed unceremoniously down her shirt - hoping that it would somewhat more safeguarded there. If the others wanted it, they would have to reach in and grab it - she wasn't going to help them in the least.

Only when she was certain that she was a safe distance from her competition, and invisible in her high barricades, did she stop to give her mind a moment to wander. All night she had been consumed with thoughts of being in the competition, she hadn't given a moment to thinking about the location of the banner, or where Elrond could have possible hidden it. The playing field spanned the entire valley, there were a million places her uncle could have put it - each as likely as the last. She knew where the banner had been hidden in the past, and knew that Elrond was not likely to recycle hiding places. Still - that left a great deal of the Valley to be searched.

Peering at the forest floor, she attempted to get inside Elrond's head - a feat for any elf. Assuming his identity, she got inside the elf lord's mind, tracing his footsteps from the previous night and following his thought patterns. Every time she attempted to question the location of the banner, she drew a blank - finding only an empty blackness. She could not imagine anything that would point to the ensign's hiding place. Elrond was not the sort of person to leave tracks.

Fighting his way into the forest, Haldir knocked down adversary after adversary. It was one thing to turn around and eliminate elves he barely knew, kinsfolk from Imladris and Mirkwood. It was another to see border guards, the elves he commanded, stalking him, with every intention of taking him out of the running. More than once he found himself facing a group of elves, all ready to pounce. He dispatched each of them, without ceremony.

Pausing for the briefest moment to catch his breath, he scanned the vast expanse of his playing field. Sharp eyes caught traces of gold, brown, green, red, silver, and all imaginable colours of the earth, except for blue. Wherever Elrond had hidden his prize, it was not in this place. Moving forward, his feet whispered across the ground like wind, rustling through the amber grass. All of his senses were on high alert, cautious and careful. His eyes searched for indentions in the grass - footprints. His ears listened, waiting for any soft fluttering noise. His very nerves seemed on fire with a soldier's sense - a sixth sense and radar for danger.

In his mind, he went through location after location, recalling where he had previously found the banner, recalling how he had found it. Time after time he had found tracks, distinct markings and patterns. This competition was a hunt, it had been so for years and even through the ages it would always remain. It was a hunter's duty, then, to continue the tradition and use tracking skills, and other wares to locate the prize - and win.

A warning went off at the base of his neck, dragging his gaze downward. A rounded pockmark of sorts was set into the ground, no more than a few centimetres - but enough to leave traces of its existence. From past experience Haldir knew it to be the exact diameter of the ensign's staff - the wooden pole the banner was attached to. Intellect told him the mark was recent, very recent - probably only made the day before.

Elrond may have been weightless when he travelled - but his quarry was not. Following the drag mark as if it were an arrow pointing him in the right direction, he set off - rightfully confident of his own prowess.


	9. Secrets

"Well, Lord Elrond - do you imagine this competition to be a long one? Or should we expect a winner relatively soon?"

Elrond smiled, grey eyes twinkling with mirth at the question. To the unknowing, it seemed innocent enough, but to the elf lord that had been doing this for centuries, he quickly understood the real meaning. "You know as well as I, Thranduil. The length of the competition depends on the skill of the competitors."

"Ah, yes. Very good." The elven king glanced around, wine cup in hand, surveying his company. "There are a good many skilled elves out there, from every land, but I fancy this shan't be an easy competition."

Glorfindel looked back - he had retreated to the balcony after the commencement services, for a better view and, naturally, to mingle with the upper crust. "When is it easy, my lord?" he questioned, somewhat rhetorically. "But what makes this competition more difficult than the previous?"

Thranduil chuckled, face already tinged red with the effects of Midsummer brew. It was a holiday for drinking, and he was taking advantage of it. "Simple!" he answered with a hearty roar. "The strongest competitor out there has a hellcat to avoid, who, herself, has to keep away from the others because they'll think she's easy prey, and the rest of them with a chance will be avoiding everyone - knowing they're going to be targeted, seeing as the number one is already presumed taken care of."

If there were an explanation any less simple, Thranduil surely would have hit on it, but nonetheless, the elven king looked thoroughly pleased with his detailed explanation. Of everyone present, he alone seemed to understand precisely what it was he said.

"By hellcat, I presume you mean my granddaughter, Thranduil?" Celeborn questioned, voice light and airy - despite his frigid intonations.

"Well, she is a bit vicious, isn't she?"

"I am certain King Thranduil meant it with the best intentions, Lord Celeborn," Elrond mediated. "Your granddaughter is a renowned fighter, after all."

"Indeed," was the somewhat sullen answer. Every elf was entitled to live their life as they pleased, without restriction based on gender of birth, or anything of the sort, but that did not render either trait to be unimportant. LothLórien, more so than the other two elfdoms, retained a more aged view on positions in society, and who belonged where. She-elves were not supposed to fight, not because they couldn't, but because they didn't have to. It was the foremost duty of a male to protect his home and his people, to serve the female. Having a female fight and protect males was considered degrading, to both sides.

While Imladris and Mirkwood had evolved beyond that frame of mind, LothLórien held firmly to its beliefs, refusing to lose tradition to a modern world. Change heralded the end of an age, and they were determined to survive the millennia as long as the earth allowed.

"But what of Haldir?" A high voice arose from the back of the balcony, where Erestor, as always, had been sitting behind the elven lords. "He will surely have as negative an effect on Lady Uruviel as she will have on him, as King Thranduil explained."

The silence that followed was not in response to Erestor's comment, so much as it was in utter shock that he had understood the elven king. The two had a mutual dislike for each other. "Hear, hear!" Thranduil answered, toasting the advisor and downing the rest of his goblet. Erestor's only response was the slightest grimace - he hated wine.

"I fail to see why my granddaughter should have any effect on the Marchwarden," Celeborn replied.

"Yes," Galadriel added, her soft voice sending chills down the spines of many. "You make it seem as though Haldir should be targeting her, specifically, and the like. Aside from ability - I fail to see why they should have any interest in each other."

"Should it not be Dinendel, who is the most concerned?" the Lord of LothLórien remarked. "It was he who made the comment."

Thranduil scoffed dramatically. "Yes, but- oh... thank you." Before he had the opportunity to speak, a serving maid had begun to refill his goblet, which he promptly drowned himself in, out of habit. Sighing wistfully, Elrond shook his head. There were many things Galadriel and Celeborn, for all their wisdom, did not know about their granddaughter - and he was not about to let the inebriated King of Mirkwood ruin the day. Winking to the maid that had rushed to refill the empty goblet, he nodded - a signal to keep up the good work.

"Who will be after whom is unimportant," the Lord of Imladris answered. "What matters, is who will find the hidden ensign first."

"That is, if they find it at all," Glorfindel added dryly.

"Oh, I imagine someone will find it," Elrond replied, eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Am I to presume you're going to tell us where you've hidden it, my Lord?" Glorfindel asked - wary of an obvious answer.

"Actually, it took me quite some time to come up with an ideal location this year, I had to walk all of Imladris before I found a place." Elrond looked around for a moment, before leaning in coyly. "To find it, one must find something clearly blue."

"Well, obviously… the banner is blue," Glorfindel commented.

Galadriel met Elrond's eyes briefly, the elf lord withstanding her gaze remarkably well for someone attempting to hide something. "No… you've hidden it near something that's naturally blue."

"You've hidden the banner of Gil-hic ... Galad in a river?" Thranduil questioned, through a series of hiccoughs.

Glorfindel broke in once more. "You wouldn't… not underwater. Clearly blue… the water's not blue, the water is clear – but it will appear blue if something nearby is."

"Clearly," Galadriel finished, a small smile on her lips, "appearances aren't meant to be deceiving."

"Perhaps," Elrond replied with a smirk.


	10. Confrontation

Dragging her arm across her forehead, Uruviel attempted to eliminate some of the sweat dripping down her face, to no avail. Hours she had searched, finding clue after clue, but still she was no nearer to finding the banner. She had reasoned with herself, using logic and wit - eliminated location after location to narrow down the field, and found nothing.

Compiling the places where the banner had last been hidden - Uruviel discovered that Elrond preferred to hide it in one of two places. Either where it would be impossible to reach without something of a self-sacrifice, or a place where the colour blue was natural, or a part of the scenery. Assuming that the latter option would be the easiest to find, she had searched for those first.

Scouring the flower beds, she had thoroughly gone over each row of cornflowers, irises, and forget-me-nots with no success. Following the rivers, she had searched the falls, each nook and cranny of the river rocks - which tended to have a blue shine. Now, sitting on the wide, stone railing of a bridge, she felt she had run out of locations. Wide, azure eyes watched the river water, rippling and strong merrily reflecting the bright blues of the sky. Her only option was to begin her search of those impossible places that no sensible elf would go.

Following Elrond's trail had been more of a task for the Marchwarden than ever before. He had been led through the forest, the gardens, across what felt like the entire rim of the valley, and brought back down, through the falls to one lonely river - where the tracks seemed unable to keep to one side. He was certain that whomever had lain the trail, something told him it was Elrond - which was entirely possible, the elf lord did love tricks, almost as much as his sons, had done so on purpose, hoping some poor soul would see it and think themselves lucky. How wrong he had been.

Trekking along the bank of the river, he sighed when his path vanished down into the water, presumably to arise, again, on the other side. Pursing his lips - he looked ahead, expecting winding curves that led deeper into the valley. The river did indeed snake away, as expected, but the sight of a bridge - a means of crossing the river without getting soaked again - was a new and wonderful sight.

As he approached, he was even more astonished to see an elf - all alone - with radiant, golden hair, seated mournfully on its edge. "Uruviel?" he called out, stepping lightly onto the stones.

The she-elf whirled around, nearly losing her seat, as she faced the male. Her eyes narrowed, wary of a trick. Haldir tended to play fairly, but in her case she could never be certain. "Haldir," she answered. "Is the Hunt finished? Have you won yet?"

The Marchwarden chuckled, shaking his head. Silver droplets of water sparkled around him. "Not yet," he answered with a smile.

Uruviel's eyes widened as she took note of his rather wet attire. His hair, normally silky and straight, seemed a bit mussed and damp. "Have you been swimming?" she asked incredulously. 'In leggings?' she added silently to herself.

"No, well, yes, technically. As a matter of fact, I have been searching the rivers... and haven't found anything."

"You think Elrond would risk that ensign in water?"

"No, obviously..." he could feel his face growing warm with mild embarrassment. What a merry chase he had been led on. "I was thinking it might be near a river."

"So you went in the river, assuming that you might see it from a better vantage."

"Precisely."

"And now you're all wet."

"And now I'm wet, yes." Silence ensued, water continuing to drip off of Haldir's clothes and pool at his feet. "I take it you haven't had much luck either, then?" he asked, breaking the monotonous dripping.

"None. Though I feel I've searched every possible hiding place in the valley."

"I know what you mean," Haldir answered. "I feel as if I have been to LothLórien and back, with none of the comforts of home to give me respite."

"Home... " Uruviel glanced skywards, sighing wistfully and noting the position of the sun, high overhead. It's warm golden rays were all the comfort she needed. Hoping that their arid diatribe wasn't giving anyone else an added opportunity, they continued conversing for some time, their laughter carrying across the water with ease.

Not far off, another set of ears caught hints of their amusement. Having spent the entire morning playing the guerrilla, Dinendel had seen more than three-fourths of the day's competition eliminated. He had a bounty of necklaces that would no doubt yield him the winner, if by some chance another competitor couldn't find the banner. He, personally, wasn't going to waste time looking for it. If he found it, so be it - but if he found others first, the worse for them.

Keeping low, he crept along the river bank, drawing nearer to the voices he had heard. It wasn't until he was flat against the bridge's supports that he recognised exactly who it was - the two elves he had spent the morning avoiding, Haldir and Uruviel. Holding his breath, he melted back against the bridge - they hadn't seen him yet. Moving slowly, along the grass, he tried to get out the way he had come.

Luck was not on his side. Keeping both eyes focused on his opponents, he wasn't watching his feet - or what he was stepping on. With a resounding snap, a thin branch cracked beneath his weight.

Haldir's gaze shot up, focusing on the noise he had heard, just off the bridge. Uruviel, too, spun around - vision locking on the frozen elf in his attempted retreat. Without hesitation, Haldir dove from the edge, pinning the Mirkwood elf down and rolling into the shallow river. Water sloshed around them as they grappled, Uruviel quickly making her way down the embankment to stand beside the river. It was to her happiness when Haldir, now twice as wet as before, erupted from the surface, clutching a leather necklace with an emerald stone in his hand. His own, glittering gold in the sunlight, shimmered in its place around his neck.

Dinendel, gasping and heaving, dragged himself from the river onto the grass, gulping down a lungful of air. Craning his head to look at Haldir, silhouetted against the bridge, and Uruviel, watching bemusedly in the background, his own brown eyes focused on something far more ironic. Tucked neatly into the stones, a wide blue banner - with matching stars and emblems - glittered with the reflected sunbeams. "I don't believe it..." he whispered.


	11. Discovery

Thanks everyone for your wonderful reviews! They're all very much appreciated. A special thanks to Erid'Lor and Lady Ambreanna, you guys are awesome. ; If you wouldn't mind – once you're done with the story (there's another chapter to go) please submit another review/critique on the whole thing. Comments, quotes, complaints – all are welcome! Again, thanks so much!

----

"I don't believe it..."

Uruviel's head tilted, gaze shifting from Haldir to Dinendel, who appeared to be staring at her, though his eyes seemed a little unfocused. Following the line of his vision, her own azure gaze alighted on what had so shocked him - the ensign, the hidden prize, was sheltered just beneath the lip of the bridge. Her mouth dropped open. Glancing once at Haldir, who still stood knee deep in the river, she darted forward, seized the banner, standard and all, and sprinted up the bank. She had the key, the key to victory, and she would not stop now.

Haldir churned through the water, scrambling onto the grass and up the opposite side. Uruviel raced across the bridge, feet pounding over the path back to the palace. Hindered by his wet clothes, Haldir charged after her - praying that stamina and strength would help him, should her speed fail.

The race back to the start wasn't easy for either of them. At every turn the remaining contestants leapt from bush and bough, determined to seize the banner for themselves. More came running as they heard the horde crash through the valley. Uruviel dodged all that she could, using the standard as a lance to fend off people in front, and knocking those she raced by without remorse.

On the high balcony, Elrond and the others had begun to retreat indoors; the high midday sun had become unbearably hot and lunch was calling. As they processed into the palace - a shout carried across the air. Galadriel alone turned around, eyes narrowing on the verdant field. "What was that sound?" she asked calmly.

The lords shook their heads, looking from one to the next. "I didn't hear anything," Thranduil answered. Far below - a great bellowing arose, championed by a storm of people. With only the briefest hesitation, everyone rushed back to the balcony to see what had befallen. At the head of the pack, and several metres in the lead, Uruviel was sprinting for the finish line, having outdistanced all of her competition - all, except one.

Haldir, fighting desperately to catch her, despite his obvious handicaps, was gaining, centimetres in every stride. From above, the elven nobility watched in complete silence. Celeborn and Galadriel stood at the very front of the balcony, arms around each other as their granddaughter fought to stay in the lead.

Her strength was ebbing quickly. For all the resilience of the elven race, she had never run such a competition before, and its strains were finally starting to appear. Her feet vanished as they flew across the open grass, but the distance between her and the one threat to her success was disappearing rather fast.

On the field, no more than a few metres from the finish, Haldir threw the last strength he had into a dive, catching Uruviel around her feet and dragging her down. Over and over they rolled, until he pinned her down, the standard between them. She was nearly as exhausted as he was, and nearly incapable of fighting him off.

The silver and sapphire of their eyes seemed to melt together for a moment, as she struggled against his hold, knowing there was no point. Forcing a few ragged words through his laboured breathing, Haldir whispered his apologies, "I'm sorry." The pained expression on his face was utterly genuine. It was a trial to take this victory from her, especially when dignity was riding on her success. His dignity, however, was on the line as well. She was just another competitor.

It was a picturesque surrender. Uruviel returned his sympathy with a smile, and a few soft words of her own, her show of resignation nearly complete. She had little to no strength to force him away, and even if she could, there was little hope that she would make it across the line before he caught her again, if he could get up. "I love you," she answered, meeting his placid gaze with a fiery sparkle. Lifting her head, she kissed him gently on the lips, the picture of forfeit, before driving her knee as sharply upward into his groin as she could.

Haldir cried out in pain, clenching his eyes shut and rolling to the side. As he moved, she darted out from beneath him, standard in hand. Without looking back, she bolted - crossing the finishing line at a steady lope.


	12. Victory

Elves spilled over the sidelines, encircling the new champion, cheering and applauding with glee. Glorfindel, who had jumped down the stairs rather than rush back out onto the balcony, pushed his way to the front of the crowd. Enveloping Uruviel in a gargantuan hug, he raised both arms, calling for a quiet to the din of celebration. "Elves! May I present the winner of the Midsummer Hunt and our new champion, Lady Uruviel of LothLórien! The first and only female to win!" The eruption that followed was deafening.

On the balcony, Celeborn and Galadriel held each other tightly, torn between a desire to be incredibly happy for their granddaughter for her victory, and the shock of how she had managed to win. Nonetheless, their eyes shone with mirth as they silently embraced. Under the archway, Elrond smiled softly to himself.

Thranduil, who at that point cared more for the wine he was imbibing than the actual competition, raised his glass and gave a throaty cheer. "Consul… cong…su… gratis…. Yay Uruviel!" Draining the entire cup, he smiled bemusedly, and promptly fell over, hitting the divan with a soft thud and giggling somewhat strangely. An elf maid promptly appeared at his side, replacing his goblet with water infused with specially prepared herbs. Let it never be said that Elrond left any of his guests unattended.

Back on the field, Uruviel forced the banner into Glorfindel's hands – immune to the reverie that surrounded her. Turning around, she sprinted back towards the prone form of the Marchwarden. Haldir remained immobile on the ground, curled over with his arms wrapped around his knees. His eyes stared blankly into the distance, unfocused and unaware.

"H-… Haldir?" her voice cracked as she spoke his name, uncertain of how he would react after her little trick. Edging forward slowly, she approached him. She may have won the contest, but Haldir was an incredibly proud elf -- she wasn't sure that he would appreciate her antics as much as everyone else.

The Marchwarden blinked, looking up at her slowly. The image in his eyes was one of disgrace and disappointment, more for himself than for her. Focusing on her face, his expression remained blank – just the same empty expanse that it had been when she had first returned.

Falling to her knees beside him, she looked horror-struck. Apologies began to fall from her lips like rainwater as she begged him to see reason, to understand why she had no choice, drawing on every excuse she could think of to justify her actions. Again, she was met with an expressionless void. Staring at her, he said nothing, simply shook his head and sighed softly before looking away again.

"Forgive me? Haldir…" she pleaded, azure eyes wide and mournful. The competition hadn't been worth this. If only she could go back, she would have willingly sacrificed her own dignity to avoid a situation like this. Her love meant more to her than winning, though it seemed that the Marchwarden did not share her romantic sentiments. "Haldir… please forgive me."

Turning to look at her once more, the same sadness that she displayed in her own gaze was mimicked in his. Silver pools reflecting the misery of the ages in a glance that would have melted the hearts of the most steadfast. Pursing his lips, he nodded once, his only sign of recognition, before looking at the earth yet again. Still – even such a simple sign was more than enough for her. If only he would speak.

"Say something?" she asked quietly, hoping against all odds that he would put aside this misery that had overcome him and forget that the Hunt had even happened. When he refused to move, she sighed inwardly, crawling to her feet. A nod was more than she could have hoped for, and under the circumstance, she was fairly certain that it was all she was going to get. As she turned to leave, she saw something move out of the corner of her eye.

From the ground, Haldir had raised his hand, offering his palm for her to help him up. Turning, she looked at him, a light glinting in her eyes. With a small smile, she grasped his hand, bracing herself to hoist him off the ground. With an impish grin, Haldir resisted, pulling her bodily down on top of him. With a gasp, Uruviel sprawled forward, landing across the Marchwarden's chest with an annoyed grimace. Haldir, in turn, smirked, eyes glinting mischievously.

"I win," he whispered.


End file.
